


Coming Up For Air

by EverythingShines



Category: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich - Fandom, Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Badly-written Smut, Ep. 5.10, Gallavich, M/M, PWP, Season 5 throwback, Shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingShines/pseuds/EverythingShines
Summary: Season 5 dugout scene extended. Ian brings Mickey to the dugouts to feel like he’s getting back to normal, but Mickey feels torn. They get drunk and *communicate.*





	Coming Up For Air

**Author's Note:**

> Throwback to season five, ep. 10. I think I missed Gallavich Week 2019, but I’m never sure which week it is, since I’m usually just a lurker. Pride month has me feeling lonely for our boys, so I wrote this to make me feel less alone.
> 
> Also, I’m sure this fix has been done dozens of times, but the scene is so good! 
> 
> Songs:
> 
> “Basic Instinct” - The Acid  
> “Love is a Battlefield” - Pat Benetar

“First time I’ve felt anything since, uh...” Ian said softly and a bit watery.

 

As the shotgunned beer quickly warmed up the muscles of his body that he hadn’t noticed were tense, Ian didn’t exactly remember the last time he felt so alive. The slight inebriation setting in enhanced a dull spectrum of emotions that had been absent as of late.

 

Ian relished in it, feeling closer to himself, to life, to god, to pain, to joy... to Mickey. It felt beautiful. Ian swallowed a lump in his throat, tasting the cheap beer and blood that mixed with the tears choking him up. Ian looked over at Mickey whose eyes burned blue with adrenaline under his bloody brow.

 

“You look like a fuckin’ wet rat,” Mickey cracked to break the tension, still breathless from the gauntlet Ian had thrown just minutes prior. When their eyes met, each boy felt relief at the peace that was settling between them as quickly as the fight had started. Ian’s heart skipped with another surge of emotion as Mickey leaned in to kiss Ian hungrily. Ian caught Mickey’s mouth as tongues and lips assaulted and consumed. Only minutes ago, Mickey hadn’t been sure if or how soon Ian would allow Mickey to kiss him.

 

Mickey was riding an emotional roller coaster, too, and although he knew he could hang on, he didn’t know from one day to the next how vigorously Ian might try to shake him off, push him away. Mickey was so grateful today wasn’t going to be that day. Mickey hoped Ian couldn’t see how hot tears burned his eyes with the gratitude of the moment as he pulled Ian’s coat off, pressing his forehead to Ian’s. If Ian needed him to be tougher, stronger, Mickey would be. He wouldn’t let Ian see how weary the fight could make him.

 

“...fuckin’ jacket off,” Mickey demanded in a low growl, determined to ride the triumph of this moment _with_ Ian. The flame of want had been lit for both of them, however brief, and so the two young men were going to seize it. Ian would burn himself alive with that fire, enjoying the swoop of arousal into his lower torso.

 

Mickey’s arm grazed Ian’s now throbbing, bandaged hand as he took pulled off their outer layers. Ian groaned.

 

“Watch it, Mick,” he murmured, removing the sleeves from his right arm gingerly. Mickey bit back the urge to ask him if he was okay. He still wasn’t sure how Ian had injured it but he wasn’t going to fuck this up by drawing attention to any of the bullshit that had been permeating their lives recently. Mickey would lay all that aside just to see Ian smile.

 

_Tender we fall..._

 

Mickey reached up for the nape of Ian’s neck as his right hand worked Ian’s belt open with quick, practiced fingers. Their mouths met hungrily again as Mickey slid his hand into Ian waistband. He rested there for a moment as they swirled tongues and wrestled for oxygen. Mickey felt the firm warmth of Ian’s pelvic bones and the light, curly fibers of Ian’s hair and let a groan mingled with relief, arousal.

 

_Quiet and alone..._

 

“Mick,” Ian breathed, tugging at Mickey’s jeans, eyes fixed on Mickey’s plump, wet lips.

 

“You gonna get on me or what, Gallagher?” Mickey let out with a soft chuckle. Ian spun Mickey awkwardly around with one hand and prodded him into the shelter of the dugout.

 

_Tired and just speechless, speechless_

_Tired and gone..._

 

From behind, Ian pulled himself close to Mickey with the arm of his injured hand and finished working Mickey’s pants open with his left. He nuzzled into Mickey’s neck, inhaling the scent of black hair and pressing kisses behind the curl of Mickey’s ear.

 

“Ahhh,” Mickey gave a deep shudder of pleasure, hands gripping the chain link fence against which Ian had pressed him. Mickey’s eyelids lowered as he sank into the sheer ecstasy of the attention Ian was lavishing upon him. Ian’s left hand had his jeans and boxers down around his knees and reached around under Mickey’s cock, pressing it up against his body as he rubbed up and down.

 

Ian continued to feast on Mickey’s neck from behind as his own cock nestled into the ridge of Mickey’s ass. Their hips rolled together for a delicious moment as Mickey let growling sighs escape his throat, to which Ian’s long frame allowed access. Mickey rested his head back against Ian and reached behind him to stroke and steer him nearer to where he so desperate needed.

 

_Coming up for air_

_Coming up for air, air..._

 

“You bring anything, tough guy?”

 

Ian hummed in affirmation and released Mickey’s cock to produce a condom from jeans now bunched up around his knees. Both boys had been tested but still used the contraceptive for the convenience of lubrication and easy clean-up.

 

“Help me out, Mick,” Ian muttered. He handed Mickey the foiled packet and took the shorter boy’s cock back into his hand. Mickey tore it open with his teeth and expertly rolled the rubber onto Ian’s dick behind him and quickly guided him home. Ian looked down to watch Mickey press himself back onto Ian’s thankfully erect dick without preparation.

 

“Oh yeah,” Ian let out, guttural, victorious, and satisfied that he was overcoming the side effect of his psych meds. “Fuck, Mick. Ready?”

 

“Fuck yeah, Gallagher. Give it to me.” Mickey breathed, eyes watering with exultation. It had felt like too long since they fucked like this, and Mickey wasn’t sure he would last very long.

 

_Coming up for air_

_Coming up for air, air..._

 

For days, all Mickey wanted was to feel the hot, phallic sensation of Ian inside of him. He’d tried to be patient before, considerate of what Ian was going through. According to Ian, however, this had been the wrong approach. So Mickey decided to take greedily whatever Ian was going to give.

 

Mickey gripped the fence in front of him again as Ian rocket-launched his hips into a frantically brutal pace.

 

“Fu-uh-uh-uh-uck,” Mickey let his voice trail out lowly, taking advantage of the fact they were more alone than they’d been in weeks. No hospitals, no families, no fucking club-goers to distract Ian.

 

_Coming up for air_

_Coming up for air, air..._

 

Apparently, Ian was also relishing this fact. Ian wasn’t necessarily quiet in bed, often making Mickey blush with his filthy words, or murmuring his praise. But now, Ian’s ragged pants were animalistic and needy.

 

Ian’s eyes were screwed tightly shut with effort, head thrown back. His right arm across the front of Mickey’s chest anchored them together as Ian’s left hand gripped his bottom’s cock.

 

Ian’s primal grunts had the hair on the back of Mickey’s neck prickling with pleasure, and he angled his hips forward slightly to catch Ian’s fleshy tip right where he needed it. As Mickey bowed forward slightly to keep Ian on target, Ian grinned salaciously.

 

“That’s it, baby. Take it for me. You take it so goddamn good for me, don’t you?” Ian practically pleaded.

 

_Coming up for air..._

 

“Yes. Ian. Fuck, Ian, I’m gonna—“ Mickey fought to get the words out as Ian pummeled him. At that, Ian plunged his face into Mickey’s neck once more to kiss, nibble, and suck at the bit of exposed skin.

 

_Coming up for air..._

 

Mickey groaned as his explosion came. His eyes opened into the chilly air, the sounds of sirens in the distance and the sun disappearing into the hazy horizon reminding him of their surroundings. It was like he just woke up, as he looked down and saw his cock dribbling onto the concrete below.

 

_Push me back in..._

 

“Mickey,” Ian gasped, slowing, fatiguing. Mickey reached a hand behind to grab onto Ian’s hip, pulling him in. Mickey was feeling sensitive and raw, but he wouldn’t stop Ian from getting his.

 

He awkwardly stilled Ian’s hips and clumsily shuffled them back to the bench behind them. He sat Ian down, never breaking contact so that he was seated on Ian’s lap. Mickey didn’t care how they must look sitting like this, jeans pooled around their ankles. He twisted, craning his neck so he could bring his lips to Ian’s.

 

As rough chins grazed lightly stubbled jaws, Mickey’s chest swelled with love and attraction to the beautiful boy below him. Mickey placed one hand on the bench below to brace himself and the other grasped at Ian’s neck behind him.

 

_Silent in sin..._

 

Mickey planted his feet and ground his ass down onto Ian before pulling back up slowly. He rolled his hips at a tortuous pace until he could feel Ian’s wanting fervor come back. But now, now Mick was in control.

 

They weren’t always this troubled, needy couple. Okay, maybe they were always troubled. But this used to just be about release, so goddamnit, Mickey was going to show Ian just how good it could be.

 

_Fight in water_

_Want it..._

_Want it..._

_Basic instinct..._

 

Ian started to go slack as Mickey’s sheer force took over his body through his cock. The alcohol was in full effect, and Ian hadn’t felt this good in weeks. He rested his head back against the cold, blue brick behind him as he watched Mickey’s scarred, pearly ass bob rhythmically in his lap.

 

Ian licked his lips and relished the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing into Mickey’s raw entrance.

 

“Fucking goddamn, Mick,” Ian growled through gritted teeth. He gave a hard smack on the unblemished cheek, wanting to see his handprint welt up there. Ian’s hazy inebriation pulled his brain to wonder what Mickey’s gunshot wounds felt like after all this time.

 

He dragged his fingernails over the raised skin on Mickey’s left cheek as Mickey brought him to the crest of his pleasure. Invigorated, Ian sunk the fingertips of both hands into the flesh before him. His head rolled against the wall, and he bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He would’ve shouted up to the gods if he knew it wouldn’t draw attention to them and thus interrupt the fucking rapture Mickey was bestowing upon him.

 

Through drooping lids, he saw Mickey shoot a positively wicked grin over his shoulder. And then his eyes snapped shut, fireworks shooting behind them as he began to climax.

 

Ian moaned out loud as he brought his hips up to meet the orgasm. Ian finished gushing into the condom before pushing Mickey’s ass up and off his dick. Spurred by the buzz, he dove forward and licked a stripe across Mickey’s hollow in drunken appreciation. Mickey jolted, standing on shaky legs as he gave a shuddering laugh. With a final slap over the red handprint, Ian slackened against the bench blissfully and rolled the overfull condom off and tied it. He chucked it over to a nearby trash can and missed before pulling his jeans up.

 

Mickey was already zipped and pulling out a cigarette as he took a seat next to Ian. Mickey lit up and handed the pack over to Ian. Often they’d share, but Mickey felt like he could smoke a whole pack right now. As Mickey exhaled a stream of smoke, he realized that classic Milkovich fashion would have his walls going up right about now. He looked over at the boy who’d held his heart for all these years and wondered how much more things would evolve. Ian lit up his cigarette, pants still undone.

 

“Thanks, Mick,” he said sincerely as he handed Mickey the pack. Mickey knew he wasn’t being thanked for the cigarette. He felt sick with unknown dread. What was next? Would Ian’s mood sink low, or would he begin babbling manically? He shouldn’t have had that beer, and he shouldn’t have chugged it. But Ian seemed more sober now, somehow. 

 

_I’m tired; I don’t want it_

_I’m tired; I don’t want it..._

 

Mickey smirked.

 

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” he said finally. Ian laughed as the darkness set in around them.

 

“Cold?” Ian asked, as he stood, cigarette dangling from his bloodied lips. Mickey shrugged and tried not to return to that fucking mother hen state of worry for Ian.

 

 _Fuck this,_ he thought. _And fuck me for giving a shit._

 

_I’m tired; I don’t want it_

_I’m tired; I don’t want it..._

 

“Grab me another beer,” he muttered as Ian retrieved their discarded layers. Mickey settled against the wall, not eager to return to the Chateau d’Gallagher. He wanted to stay shut off for a little while longer.

 

Ian pulled on his flannel and coat, then dropped Mickey’s coat on the bench before retrieving a can from the backpack. He cracked it open and took a gulp before handing it over to Mickey. Ian plopped back down next to Mickey, thighs and shoulders touching. He looked over at Mickey who was still braving the cold and drinking deeply from the can.

 

Ian floppily turned his torso to watch Mickey. Mickey, never one to enjoy attention, pretended to ignore Ian, while he finished his cigarette like it was a mission. Ian sighed and Mickey pursed his lips in irritation.

 

“What?” Mickey asked, softly.

 

_Coming up for air_

_Coming up for air, air..._

 

“Nothing,” Ian said, blissfully.

 

“Why are you fuckin’ looking at me like that?”

 

_Air... Air..._

 

“I love you,” Ian started, to which Mickey rolled his eyes, but fought to keep the corners of his mouth from sliding away from his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

 

_Air, air..._

 

“For what?” Mickey asked, flicking his cigarette away and itching for another. Ian’s eyelashes fluttered and he shook his head silently, emotion welling up in his throat again.

 

_Air, air..._

 

“I mean, I came pretty fast, so if you’re apologizing for the dugout sex... I’m good.” Mickey finished lamely, unable to come up with a sufficient quip. Ian grinned, eyes shiny with tears for the feelings he didn’t want to articulate.

 

“That was actually pretty hot, Mick. Erectile dysfunction sucks. I’m glad I got to see that ass bouncing on my cock today,” Ian said with an unsuppressable grin.

 

“Oh yeah?” Mickey choked out, finally having ingested enough beer to relax a bit. He glanced over at Ian, finally trusting his buzz enough not to convey sadness with his eyes.

 

“My only regret is that the condom prevented me from eating my cum out of your ass,” Ian said, enjoying the lack of filter that the alcohol supplied. At this, Mickey finally barked out a laugh.

 

“You’re such a fuckin’ perv,” he accused, pulling out another cigarette and settling against Ian. They chuckled together.

 

Mickey swallowed the last of his beer and reached for the last one in Ian’s bag. He cracked it open and took a large gulp before speaking again.

 

“I love you too.” He muttered. “And don’t fuckin’ hit me.” He blurted quietly, immediately regretting it. Ian, who had been contemplating a stain on the hem of his tan thermal, looked up to see a sulking, sheepish Mickey.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ian breathed. He grabbed the warming can from Mickey’s grip and took a swallow before returning it and speaking again.

 

“I don’t want this. I’m tired of feeling this way. I mean, I really fucked up, y’know? With everything. I mean, all I wanted was this ticket out of here, which was the military. And then I became I obsessed with military school—it was, like, my only way. And I wasn’t thinking about anything else, or anyone... except you,” Ian inhaled sharply as Mickey concentrated on the ground. “Fuck, I just... and then you knocked her up and it had to be right away. I couldn’t stay here.

“When the Army didn’t work out, I just, I couldn’t face Lip or Fiona,” Mickey gritted his teeth at the mention of Ian’s pretentious, judgmental brother. “And the shit I got into with Monica... it was the only way to move on for the fact that you didn’t choose me over...” Mickey cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I mean, I love Yev. You _know_ I do...” Ian’s breath started coming quicker as he got closer to crying.

 

“Shit, what are we even talking about here?” Mickey finally asked, voice heightened. He looked at Ian, brows knitted. “You wanna blame me for this shit? You think I don’t—“

 

“No,” Ian interrupted before Mickey could get worked up, too. Blue eyes looked panicked and pained as they settled on green ones. “No. I just loved you so much, Mickey. I still do. I wanted you to understand. And I didn’t see—I was too wrapped up in my own hurt feelings to understand that you had the raw end of the deal. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that.” Ian pleaded.

“I’m so proud of you, Mick. So proud. I feel guilty sometimes. Most of the time.” At this, Mickey closed off. “No, Mick, c’mon,” Ian implored. “It’s taken a lot just to get to this point, for me to be able to tell you I love you without you terrified and pissed off enough to beat me up. But now I have you, and I’m all wrong. Everyone thinks I need to be heavily medicated. And sometimes it ruins the fact that I can have you now. And when you look at me like I’m crazy—when you look at me the way we look at Monica—it just doesn’t seem fair. And I’m angry. Don’t look at me like we look at her.

“Remember when I pounded on your front door all those years ago when she came back? I don’t want you to feel like I did when she came back. It changes a person. This has changed you,” Ian finished, gesturing to himself. “I hate it, Mick. And I’m so sorry. So sorry that this is what you get.” Ian was crying now, tears steaming.

 

_I’m tired, I don’t want it..._

_I’m tired, I don’t want it..._

 

Mickey drained the last of the beer and sunk the can into the trash. He swallowed a few times and turned to face Ian, determined.

 

“Fuck all of this, Ian. I don’t care. I don’t care that you’re sick, I don’t care about your mom or your family, and I don’t care about mine. I don’t want to wallow in any of this. All that matters is we’re here. Just be with me, man. I love you, and that’s what changed me. It’s helped me figure out who I am a little bit, and I wouldn’t let go of that. Forget all of that shit, man, and just be with me, okay? Please, Ian?”

 

Ian looked at Mickey, confused. Mickey continued.

 

“I mean, hit me if you need to. You think I haven’t learned how to take a hit? But tell me what you want from me. I’ve only been smothering you because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. You think I’ve been through this shit? I read up on everything to try to do right by you and it’s still isn’t enough, is it? If I’m doing something wrong, just tell me so I can change it, so we can just be. That’s all I want, Ian. Just you and me. It’s the only good thing I’ve ever had. So just tell me how to maintain that, man.” They were quiet for a few moments, before Ian spoke again.

 

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

 

“Fuck.” Mickey breathed out. This was more of a conversation than he bargained for. “Fuck you, Gallagher.” Mickey said again. Ian smiled, understanding the tone in Mickey’s voice.

 

“Fuck you, too, Milkovich.” Ian said, equally as exhausted by this talk. “Are we ever gonna get our shit together?”

 

“Well, we’re still young, Gallagher. Maybe we’ll figure it out,” Mickey said, pulling out yet another cigarette.

 

“Let’s go, I’m thirsty,” Ian said. Cottonmouth from his meds and dehydration from the single beer had set in. They stood and collected their belongings. As they headed toward the Gallagher house, Mickey suggested they stop off at a gas station for a pack of fresh smokes and a soda for Ian. They drifted into a convenience store on the way. Ian wandered the aisles idly as he waited for Mickey to piss from slamming a few beers.

 

Still buzzed himself, Ian started to hum along to an old 80’s song on the radio. He heard a lyric that reminded him of something Mickey said earlier.

 

_We are young._

_Heartache to heartache we stand._

_No promises, no demands._

 

The longer he listened, the more he got into the lyrics as he applied them to Mickey and himself. By the time Mickey came out of the restroom, Ian was full on singing to him.

 

Mickey rolled his eyes hard at Ian, as he paid for their Gatorade and cigarettes. Ian kept singing to Mickey as they made their way back home and Mickey couldn’t help but sing along.

 

_You’re begging me to go_

_Then making me stay_

_Why do you hurt me so bad_

_It would help me to know_

_Do I stand in your way_

_Or am I the best thing you’ve had_

_Believe me_

_Believe me_

_I can’t tell you why_

_But I’m trapped by your love_

_And I’m chained to your side..._

 

He loved the stupid redhead, and knew he was in this for a long while.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and indulging my Gallavich hobby. Special thanks to all Gallavich writers who keep me company, and even more special thanks to profondementX on YouTube for the easy access reference material. Ily all so much.


End file.
